


Netherworld's Most Wanted

by Macx



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Ghosts, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghostbusters have a new case, finding a dangerous ghost, but they are not the only ones after him. The Netherworld has their own law enforcement and they want him just as badly for murder. Add to that that Janine suffers from amnesia after a bust, things can't really get any worse. Right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Netherworld's Most Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> originally written in the mid-nineties

Rye Jefferson Coulthard was a private investigator. He owned a small office in the downtown area and had an apartment in the same building. The milky white glass door was lettered _R.J. Coulthard, private investigator_   and led to his secretary's desk, who could do wonders with paperwork and who was, in addition to that, a very good sharp shooter and martial artist. She helped him out on some cases now and then, and he appreciated her help immensely. His own office was large enough that he didn't feel oppressed by the shelves of books and files. Plants decorated the empty spaces between the books and a window gave him a good view over the city.

Rye had always been a private investigator, if you didn't count five years with the force, after which he had to leave because of his bad knee. Some junkie had shot him and it had never really healed. Now he didn't have any trouble with it, but there had been times when he had wanted to scream in anger and frustration at his bad luck.

Leaning back in his leather chair he looked at his latest client with a critical expression in his eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked the man. "It's a pretty large step from here over there."

The man nodded. He was large, had an unhealthy yellow skin color, and bulging eyes. A mop of dark hair peeked out from under a baseball cap and a large mustache decorated the upper lip. Rye always thought that it looked like a nesting caterpillar.

"He went over there and my boys don't have any way to follow him. It's far beyond our jurisdiction." His voice was high pitched, not really fitting his bully exterior.

"Moe, I'm not really sure I can help you there," Rye confessed.

Moe smiled, showing yellowed teeth. "You're the best, Rye, and you know the terrain better than any of my boys."

Rye sighed. Moe, chief of the police force of this town, was right. First of all, he was the best, which was a result of the fact that he was the only private eye around here. Second, Moe's force had no chance of getting over there, catching the suspect, and getting home in one piece.

"And," the police chief went on, "he's a very dangerous subject. I wouldn't say he's right on top of my wanted list like some nasty demons which have wrecked havoc here, but he killed dozens of inhabitants of this world, mauled several more and he's also liable to take human lives if he isn't stopped." Moe looked seriously at Rye. "I can't say I'm very much concerned about the humans; they don't interest me. But he's still a killer and I want to see him caught and tried. You've been with the humans' police force, my friend. I think you know what this means to someone like me."

Rye did. He knew what Moe felt, how helpless the situation was for him. "I haven't been over there for a long time," he said nevertheless.

Moe smiled a bit. "You'll adapt in no time. It hasn't been such a long time since you last visited your former home town."

"20 years, Moe. That's quite a long time."

"Only a human counts time in years."

Rye grimaced. "Have you ever been there?"

Moe's face darkened. "Not since Irene died. Now, will you take the job?"

Rye looked at the file again. It was a large file, with lots of gruesome pictures of the remnants of the murdered and a frightening mug shot of the escaped convict. He shivered. He didn't like it, but ...

"Okay," he muttered. "I'll take the job, Moe. And stop grinning," he added darkly. "I want to keep my breakfast."

"You humans really are easy to upset," Moe chuckled as he rose from the chair. "And even more so when you're dead." With that he popped out of existence.

"You take the job?" a female voice asked.

"I have to be completely out of my mind, Meg," Rye muttered wryly. "Completely."

"Aw, come on, boss. It's a chance to see your home again!" Meg walked over to him, her impossible long white hair trailing after her as if she was walking in a breeze.

He grimaced. "And maybe not return."

She smiled. "Not you, Rye. You're the best."

"If some more people tell me that today I might just start to believe it."

Meg looked at him with her deep blue eyes. "You are the best, Rye Coulthard. Don't you ever doubt that."

He grinned. "That's why I hired you: you are good for the ego." Then he looked at the file again and sighed. "Why me?" he asked no-one specifically. "Why did it have to be me?"

 

* * *

 

It had not been a good day for a bust. In fact, it hadn’t even been a good bust. That was something Peter Venkman, psychologist, parapsychologist and Ghostbuster, now reflected on as he sat in the waiting room of the General Memorial Hospital. He rubbed his forehead and winced as he encountered the cut he had received. His head hurt, as did the rest of his body, and he felt abominably tired. It had been a catastrophic bust. Not only had they been undermanned, no, they had also been unable to trap that nasty yellow ghost.

The call had come yesterday. A woman, introducing herself as the secretary of the director of the Museum of Literature, had called and asked for the Ghostbuster’s help. A bright yellow glob of a ghost was terrorizing the museum and smearing everything with ectoplasm. The Ghostbusters, two men short since Ray had just left for a comic book convention and Egon was already at a physics' conference in Chicago. Though they had realized that two men were not enough to bust the gooper, that had to be one big and mean ghost, Peter had finally given in to the pleas -- and the baiting with paying twice the normal rates -- of the secretary. And after he had made a date for the next day he had tried to convince Janine to help them with this job. Reluctantly and mostly because she was bored to death she had agreed. So they had left, expecting a bust that could be strenuous, but should have been no big problem at all.

Strenuous. Peter grimaced sourly. It had not only been strenuous. The ghost had proven to be more than they had bargained for. It was their equal, bombarding them with books, scrolls, chairs and in the end with tables and shelves. They had evaded most of the stuff, taking cover under the heavy front desk and trying to trap the yellow nasty. But just before they had had success the ghost had thrown a particularly heavy book at Janine. The red-haired secretary had been unable to duck in time and the third volume of the first print of the Encyclopedia Britannica had hit her squarely on the head. She had fallen down unconscious, and Peter and Winston had immediately forgotten about the ghost and rushed to Janine's side. The yellow nasty had escaped.

Janine Melnitz had been rushed to hospital. The doctor of the Emergency Room was still examining her and had left the two other Ghostbusters in the waiting room. He had suggested that Peter should get his cut forehead looked after by a nurse, but Peter hadn’t. He was much too agitated and worried over Janine and her injury to fuss over some minor cut.

"You really should get that cut cleaned, Pete."

Peter looked up and right into the face of Winston Zeddemore. "It's nothing, really. Just a cut."

"Yeah, right." Winston shook his head. Peter would say that even if his arm was cut off. It was his worry over someone else, someone who was close to him, that let him forget his own injuries.

"It won't help Janine if you let an infection get hold of you, m'man."

The psychologist grinned a bit, but there was no humor behind his grin. The Emergency Room doctor, a woman named Roberta Grey, choose this moment to enter the waiting room. Peter jumped up immediately, regretting it a second later as his head seemed to explode into a splitting headache. Biting his lower lip he concentrated on Dr. Grey.

"Dr. Venkman, Mr. Zeddemore," the blonde doctor greeted them, scowling at Peter's still blood-covered forehead.

"How's Janine?" Peter demanded to know.

"Ms Melnitz regained consciousness, but fell asleep a few minutes afterwards. She's now on her way to a room for the night."

"For the night?" Winston repeated. "You want to keep her in?"

Grey nodded. "She has received a severe blow to the left temple and there's extensive bruising of her lower left face. She's a bit disoriented and confused right now. We want to monitor her condition."

"What's wrong with Janine?" Peter asked, forcing calm he didn't feel into his voice. His gut feeling told him something was wrong with her. Peter had hit his head before and doctors had let him leave the hospital, only telling him to lie down and take it easy for a few days. There hadn't been a problem.

Doctor Grey sighed. "To be honest, Dr. Venkman, I don't know. She is very confused and very disoriented. She doesn't know where she is or for that fact, who she is. We greeted her with her name as she woke and she just looked at us, asking us whether that is her or not."

Peter paled at each word. "Janine's got amnesia?"

"Yes. It's not a complete amnesia since she knows how to read, talk English and can give names to objects. But the things that belong to her personal life are gone."

"Dr. Grey, is there anything we can do?" Winston asked.

"Can we see her?" Peter interjected.

"Yes, you can help," Grey answered Winston's question first. "And yes you can see her, Dr. Venkman," she then addressed the psychologist. "Tomorrow. She's asleep now and she needs that sleep. I don't want you to wake her. You can come back tomorrow morning. Maybe your presence triggers a memory or a name. I told her that she was with two friends, but she can't remember who those friends are."

Winston nodded and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder as he saw that the psychologist was about to object. Janine and Peter might seem like they never got along, but both shared a deep friendship. The psychologist was very worried about her right now and Winston had a good idea why. After all, Peter always felt responsible for their team members, regardless whether they were Egon, Ray, Janine or himself. Today he had been unable to protect one of them and it sat deep. And then there was something else. Something Winston thought would come out pretty soon.

"Let's go home and get some rest," Winston said and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "We'll come back first thing tomorrow."

Peter bit his lower lip. "Can't I just see her?" he then asked the doctor.

Dr. Grey sighed. "Dr. Venkman, I understand that you're worried, but Ms Melnitz is asleep right now and I don't want to wake her. Besides even if she wakes, there's is no way of telling that she recognizes you."

"She will," Peter said with full conviction.

The blonde woman smiled tiredly. "She might," she corrected the psychologist. "But even if I'd allow you to see her tonight -- not in that condition." Grey pointed at Peter's forehead. "I thought I'd told you to go and see a nurse to get that cleaned up."

"You did?" Venkman asked innocently.

The doctor crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I did," she replied sternly. "Now go and get cleaned up. Then you drive home and get some sleep. Both of you can return tomorrow to see Ms Melnitz."

"Aye, ma'm," Peter mock saluted, but there was no humor in his eyes.

Winston gave him a gentle push towards the door and nodded his good-bye to Dr. Grey. Then he shoved Peter to the next available nurse in the ER, though the other man protested that he was really fine.

When they returned home Peter was featuring a bandage, covering the long, but not very deep cut over right eyebrow. It hadn't needed stitching, but he had received some pain medication for the headache. He sat down on his bed, staring at nothing. Winston sat down on his bed opposite Peter and watched him.

"Pete?" he finally asked when his friend showed no ambition to do anything besides staring at the floor.

"Huh?" was the distracted answer.

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"We should get some rest," Winston went on. "It was a long day and that cut looked really nasty."

"I'm fine, Winston. Just a little headache."

"Take some of the pain medication Dr. Grey prescribed," Zeddemore said, knowing the answer before Peter even said it.

"No." Peter brushed his hair out of his eyes and winced as the headache turned into a splitting headache again. "But your idea with the nap is okay." He lay down, now staring at the ceiling.

"Peter," his friend said slowly, realizing what was going on inside of the psychologist. Winston Zeddemore had known Peter since the day he had applied for the job as an additional Ghostbuster. And he had learned to read the other man, not just listen to what he said or see how he acted. He wasn't as good at this as Egon, who knew Peter even longer, but he had some ideas what going on in this stubborn mind. "Janine will be fine."

"Yeah."

"Amnesia is not a permanent condition. She just needs a few triggers to get her memories back."

On that Venkman sat up again. "No, Winston, on that you're wrong. Amnesia can be permanent. Sometimes memories never return because the brain blocks them out for good. I've known a case where this happened. And there are some more cases in the textbooks your normal psychology student has to read. Of course there's always a way for the patient to recover, but sometimes he or she just can't."

"That won't be the case with Janine, homeboy. She will remember. You said yourself just now that those cases are rare."

Peter sighed. "But they can happen."

Zeddemore sighed, too. "You got a really nasty outlook on life today, man."

"Maybe." There was a moment of silence. "We shouldn't have taken her along," Peter finally said, his voice so low Winston had trouble making out the words.

"That's nonsense, man. We needed help to get that ghost and Janine knew the risk."

"Did she?" Green eyes dared him to answer. "I accepted a bust that could only be handled by four men and we were only two. Janine's a back-up, not a full-time Ghostbuster."

"Don't you ever let her hear this," the other man replied with a smile.

"It's my fault she got hurt because I just couldn't say no to an offer of lots of money!"

Peter was right when he said that money was always a way to get his attention, but Winston knew better than to categorize his friend as a greedy, money oriented person. Peter had proven to be quite able to decline an offer when he felt that this was either against everything he stood for or was too dangerous for even that much payment. Zeddemore remembered when the millionaire Tummel had tried to transport his money and gold to the Netherworld. His sole aim had been to get all his possession to the place he was likely to go when he died. But his plan had backfired when Peter had mentioned that even when Tummel was dead and his millions gone, there would still be his building. Tummel, enraged by the thought that someone else might use his towering home for some social services, had tried to transport the gigantic tower to the Netherworld. In exchange, his money and gold had come back. Peter had suggested taking some of the money, but at the looks of his friends he had smiled and thrown it away. Money wasn't that important after all.

"All of this wasn't your fault, Peter," Winston repeated, desperately wishing for Egon who could always set the psychologist's head right.

"I should have waited for the others to return. All of this happened because of me."

"Stop that!" Winston cut in sharply, raising an astonished look from his friend. "It was not your fault. It was an accident that could have happened to any one of us."

"But it happened to Janine!"

"Yes, so it has. But it could have been someone else. Janine will be fine."

There was a lot of doubt in the other man's eyes. "Maybe."

"Not maybe. She will."

Venkman sighed. He felt tired, even more than in the hospital. His head hurt and his eyes wanted nothing but to close and rest. But his mind wasn't as easily shut down. Again and again he saw the yellow ghost throwing the book at Janine, then rushing past her and disappearing, sliming her in the process -- on top of injuring her. He saw her go down and lie there, unmoving. If he had been just a bit closer to her. If he had just anticipated that move of the ghost. If he had just.....

"Pete, get some sleep," Winston broke into his train of thought. "We'll go back to the hospital tomorrow and I don't want to explain to the nurses where I got a zombie from."

Peter grinned a bit. "'kay," he muttered and turned, not bothering to undress.

Zeddemore gave an exasperated sigh and started to undress.

 

* * *

 

He was home. Rye Coulthard looked around and smiled. He still remembered where he had lived and worked. It had been a small office building in Brooklyn, not really one of the better addresses, but for him it had meant everything. He had come to New York with the bright outlook on life of a rookie cop. His training had been excellent and he had been full of positive energy -- until he had been shot. He had not given up and had started his private investigator agency. Rye had lived in his office, had tried to help people, had found missing persons, animals and objects, had solved murder cases and kidnappings. His former colleagues had found his new job amusing, but they had also helped him whenever he had asked for help with a case. Rye had always been a likable person, someone who could convince others with his good manners and charm.

And then he had encountered his killer. He had come in the guise of a client, sent to eliminate Coulthard because he had been too close to the truth in his latest case. Rye had not seen it coming and had found himself dead afterwards. Strangely enough he had not gone to heaven -- or hell, for that fact, but had lived on as a ghost. His case had been solved by the police, the killer tried and sentenced to lifetime prison, and his office had been closed. Rye had to confess he had liked his funeral and he had wondered if every dead person attended his or her funeral. It was nice to hear all his friends tell anecdotes or say some funny things about him.

After the funeral he had moved on, searching for a new purpose in life. Since he hadn't dissolved peacefully Rye had guessed there was still something to do, but he couldn't remember any unfinished business. So he had gone looking for employment. He had found it in the form of a new old job -- in the Netherworld. Since he had never been even remotely interested in the occult he had no idea what the Netherworld was. Over the time he had found that there were hundreds of thousands of different regions, areas and sub-dimensions here, some interesting, some boring, some dangerous, some moderate. Rye had set up an office in the more moderated part of this Netherworld. And he had continued his job here, finding missing ghosts and bringing in those who had gone against the system. Since he had started his afterlife job he had risen high in the esteem of the local police force -- something he had never thought existed in the world of the dead and undead -- and Moe, the police chief, gave him all the help he could since Rye also gave his best to help the police.

"Well, here I am," he muttered. "Now to find that guy."

Rye had never returned to New York. He knew from others who had come here that the city wasn't the safest of all places for ghosts. But that didn't bother him right now. He had an escapee to bring in and that was what he would do.

Walking through the crowds of people he searched for some of his contacts. He knew a few ghosts who had voted to stay here rather then live in the Netherworld. It was much more fun. The living around him didn't see him or simply ignored the casually dressed dark-haired man. Rye knew that he didn't look any different from his former self, when he had still been alive. He  had his body, which was solid and not the least bit transparent or wispy, he wasn't as pale as a ghost, and he didn't float.

Rye arrived at a small bar at the corner of the street and stepped inside. There were a few customers here and he walked straight toward one particular table, where an old man, maybe in his late sixties, was nursing a bottle of beer, He was dressed as if he had just stepped out of a Charles Dickens novel.

"Hi, Ollie," Rye greeted the man and sat down on the chair.

A waitress walked over to him and he shook his head. She nodded and left again. She was used to the visits of strange people around here as this bar was frequented by a lot of ghosts and ghostly creatures of human origin. The owner didn't mind their visits as long as they paid and didn't disturb the other guests.

"R. J.  Coulthard," the old man said and grinned a toothless smile, his crinkled face lighting up a bit. "What's a young pup like you doing in an old-timer bar?"

Rye chuckled. "Work," he replied. "How are you, Ollie? Haven't seen you in the neighborhood for a long time."

Ollie sighed and shrugged. "It's not like in the old times. Too many demons looking for a lonely ghost to trash."

He understood. The Netherworld, just like the world of the living, wasn't always the safest. Demons were a major problem in some parts and Rye had yet to encounter a demon that didn't want to show off his strength. Well, okay, granted, the Khelljin demons weren't that bad because they were mainly guardians and had an assigned job to do. He had more than once had a nice talk with them. But the others .... It was best to make a wide detour around their lairs and hunting grounds.

"Listen, I'm looking for an escaped convict," he came right to the reason of his visit. Getting out the picture he placed it on the table. "Have you seen that guy around lately?"

Ollie peered at the picture and grimaced. "Particularly unpleasant sucker," he commented.

"Sucker?"

Ollie grinned. "Not the way you young pups interpret that word, Rye. That thing's an energy sucker; loves to suck others dry and leave them to dissipate."

"Have you seen him?" Rye had read about the ghost's abilities briefly in Moe's report.

"No. But you should ask Tracy. She's often hanging around the occult circles, playing medium and stuff like that," Ollie smiled wryly, "and she's prone to pick up on ghosts like him."

"She's here? In New York?" The last time Rye had seen Tracy was when he had paid Chicago a visit, and that had been ten years ago.

"Oh, she changes cities as the living change their clothing styles." The old man chuckled. Unlike Tracy he had stayed in New York from the day he had chosen this city as his home.

Rye rose from his chair. "Thanks, Ollie. Come by sometime when you're around."

The old man nodded. "Sure."

The private investigator left the small bar.

 

* * *

 

The book was heavy and very, very old. There was no year of first publication printed onto the page; the writing had been done by hand. The binding was brown leather and there was some kind of amulet pinned on the front of the book. Marty Villeneuve took the book and opened it carefully. It wasn't the first time he had a look at the old pages, but it always held some kind of mysticism when he did it. This was no ordinary book. He knew it was a magic book, hundreds of years old and very, very powerful -- if you knew how to use it. And Marty thought he knew it.

Getting it hadn't been easy. His grandfather owned an occult book-shop, which Marty browsed regularly because there was all kinds of funny and scary stuff there, but his grandfather had always warned him about the book. Warnings were for kids, Marty thought, he wasn't a kid, not by his standards. He might be only 13 years old, but he knew things none of his friends did because he always read those books of his grandpa.

Through the books he had developed an unhealthy interest in the occult, as his mother always said. But what did she know? Nothing, Marty decided and sat down on the floor -- which he had rid off the carpet and everything mundane. He had chosen the living room of his grandpa's apartment because at home he was in danger to be discovered by his Mom, and grandpa was in his shop anyway. No-one would disturb him. Today he'd try and do some magic described in the book. Easy spells, nothing dangerous. He didn't have the right stuff to do the big spells anyhow.

Marty had not yet started reading the Latin spell when he suddenly heard a faint whooshing sound. It was barely audible and he thought it had to be his imagination. But then it appeared. The young boy screamed in surprise and horror as the yellow ghost popped up and charged right at him. He threw up his arms, but it didn't keep the paranormal entity from sliming him from head to toe. Marty fell backward, yelling in fright and disgust.

 

* * *

 

General Memorial Hospital was a busy place in the mid-morning hours. It was about 10 a.m. when Winston and Peter entered the reception area and asked for Janine. The nurse told them to wait since there was a note to call Dr. Grey or the doctor in charge when someone asked for the patient.

"We talked to Dr. Grey just yesterday and she said we could see her," Peter told the nurse in return. "Janine's our friend."

"Please, Dr. Venkman," the nurse tried to calm him down. "I have the strict order to call a doctor when someone asks for Ms Melnitz."

"Peter," Winston admonished him lowly. "Don't scare the nurses. They're on our side."

Peter snorted and resigned himself to pacing the reception area. Dr. Roberta Grey came a few minutes later, offering the two men a smile.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

"How's Janine?" Peter asked without returning the greeting.

"She is just fine."

"Then she remembers?" Winston wanted to know hopefully.

The blonde woman shook her head. "No, I'm sorry to tell you that she still doesn't know who she is or what happened."

"Can we see her now?"

"Of course you can. By the way, you said you were after a ghost when this happened?"

Both Ghostbusters nodded.

"Why?" Winston wanted to know.

"A child was brought in yesterday, a young boy. He was playing with some magical book, as his parents told the doctor on duty, and was apparently attacked by a ghost. He was covered with yellow goo, my colleague reported, and he seems to be unable to remember anything of what happened."

Peter and Winston exchanged alarmed glances. "The ghost attacked a child?" Peter asked, horrified.  "Is he all right?"

"He is," Dr. Grey calmed him. "He was pretty weak when he woke and he can't remember anything concerning the ghost or what he was doing with the book, but everything else is there. Looks like he simply blocked that incident from his mind."

"Damnit, if it was the same ghost ...," Peter said grimly.

Winston laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get it, homeboy."

"How do you know it was a ghost?" Peter suddenly wanted to know.

Dr. Grey smiled. "First of all, I'm a believer. I think ghosts are real, Dr. Venkman. Then there was the yellow slime covering the boy. It was quite a lot and we kept samples for you if you want to examine it. I had an encounter with a rather good-natured ghost some years back and I know how ghost slime smells and looks. This is real. Then there's the grandfather who owns an occult book-shop and says he's convinced it was a ghost."

Peter nodded.

"Now if you'd follow me, I'll lead you to Ms Melnitz' room," Dr. Grey said.

She motioned them to follow her and showed them Janine's room. Peter hesitated at first but then followed Winston, who was already stepping inside.

Janine was sitting up in her bed, her eyes fixed on the window showing her the parking lot of the hospital. As she heard the door open she turned her head, expectantly looking at her visitors. Peter bit his lip as he saw her bruised left side of the face and the cut on the temple. She was dressed in a standard issue hospital garment. Her blue eyes looked emptily at the two men, not recognizing them at all.

"Hi, Janine," Peter heard himself say brightly. "How ya doing, kid?"

"Hello," Janine replied cautiously. "I'm fine considering that I don't really know who I am or, for that fact, who you are."

"Don't tell me you forgot the famous Dr. Venkman?" Peter struck a pose and looked very insulted.

His mock outrage drew a smile from the secretary. "Sorry."

"Can you believe it?" Venkman addressed Winston. "All she says is 'sorry'."

Winston ignored Peter's comment, though he knew what the psychologist had tried to do. But it hadn't worked. "Hello, Janine. I'm Winston Zeddemore," he introduced himself.

"I wish I could say I know who you are," the red-haired woman sighed, rubbing her left temple gently.

"We're working together," Zeddemore went on. "We're the Ghostbuster and you're our secretary."

Janine frowned. "Ghostbusters? Can't really say that it rings a bell. And I'm a secretary?"

Both men nodded.

"Sorry," Janine apologized for her empty mind again. "It's a total blank."

"Do you know what happened?" Winston wanted to know, sitting down on one of the chairs. Peter followed his example.

"Dr. Grey told me I got whacked on the head and that's what triggered the amnesia." She gave the two an inquisitive look. "How exactly did I get whacked on the head?"

"A book hit you," Peter explained, not knowing whether to tell her who exactly had whacked her or not.

"A book?"

"The first print of the third book of the Encyclopedia Britannica."

"Oh." Janine frowned. "How in the world did I get hit with an encyclopedia? Libraries usually aren't that dangerous."

"It was the Museum of Literature," Peter corrected.

"A museum?"

"Do you remember?" Zeddemore interjected.

The secretary shook her head. "No. Care to tell me?"

"You didn't duck fast enough and the book hit you," Peter said vaguely, hoping she might get enough hints for her memory to get working.

"Someone threw it at me?" Janine sounded a bit astounded.

"Uhm, yeah."

"Who?"

The two men looked uneasily at each other. Then Peter said: "You said you didn't remember the Ghostbusters, do you?"

"No." She shook her head.

"Well, the Ghostbusters are a business in New York and we ... trap ghosts." Peter looked at her to see her reaction. "A ghost threw a book at you."

Her reaction was exactly what he had expected: total disbelief. "A ghost? You just said 'ghost', did you?" She stared at them, wanting them to break out laughing and telling her it was all a big joke. "Ghosts as in haunted castles?"

The two Ghostbusters nodded. "Something like that, yes. And it's not a joke. Ghosts exist," Peter said softly. "We've proven that."

"Yeah, right. Tell me another one." She snorted and eyed them with suspicion.

Peter and Winston knew that this was one more complication. If Janine had only been a normal secretary it might have been easy. But trying to explain to her that she was working for the Ghostbusters was different. Ghosts were not your normal neighborhood apparition -- well, not for the Janine who was sitting in the hospital bed and watching them.

"Janine, I know this is hard to understand and I wouldn't believe it myself if I were in your place, but it's true," Peter explained. "But you've been with us and that business for a long time and have seen your share of ghosts. You believe it."

"Well, right now I don't." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Peter grinned. "Just like the time when I hired you."

"You hired me?"

"Right on the spot." Venkman smiled. "And it was a good decision."

"Yeah, right. I guess I was the only one who applied," the red-head muttered.

"You remember!" Peter exclaimed.

Janine chuckled. "Wild guess."

The dark-haired man grinned. "Good guess," he then said. "Dr. Grey said you'll be released today and we can get you home, if you feel up to it, that is. She thinks that maybe your work place and apartment will trigger a memory."

Janine nodded. "Okay."

Suddenly the door opened and a nurse came in. "You have to leave now. Visiting hours are over."

Winston stood, followed by Peter. "We'll be back soon," he promised.

"I take your word for it," she replied.

 

* * *

 

Tracy was a ghost out of a story book. She was dressed in a white, flowing gown, her long, blond hair hung down loosely and she was pale as a freshly washed sheet. Her large, dark eyes always got the attention of a mortal, who then stared at her in rapt fascination. She also hovered above the floor, her feet hidden in a wispy mist, her body sometimes growing translucent. Rye grinned at the female ghost.

"Hi, Trace," he called.

Tracy smiled back at him, her lovely face am expression of pure happiness. "Rye, darling!" She floated toward him, hugging him gently and placing a tickling kiss on his cheek. "How nice of you to come and visit me, though I'm due for an appearance in the next few minutes." She brushed through her hair and it crackled with ectoplasmic energy.

"All charged up, huh?" he teased.

"Always," Tracy purred. "Especially when you're around." She gave him an inviting smile. "You still owe me from that gig in Chicago...."

"I'm here on business, Tracy."

She sighed. "You always are," she complained, pouting a bit. "You never have time to have some fun." She brushed some of her long hair back over her shoulder.

"Have you seen that guy lately?" he asked and held up the picture.

She grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"You have?" _He had a lead!_ he cheered.

"Yeah, he barged into a seance of one of my friend's clients and scared the hell out of them. I had my hands full getting him out of the room." She grimaced again. "You wouldn't believe the mess he made."

"Did he hurt anyone?"

"Only my latest dress. It's ruined," Tracy complained with a mild pout. Then she grew serious. "I also heard that he attacked a kid in Lower Manhattan. He's a soul eater, right?"

He shook his head and put the picture back into the file. "Not exactly. He never takes a soul, only some energy from the humans he touches. But that's bad enough." Rye hated it when others got hurt because of ghosts like that. Playing jokes was okay as long as nobody was hurt, but hurting the living or the undead on purpose always made him angry.

"Why are you after him? Normally you're not concerned with the affairs of the living."

Rye looked grim. "Because he killed a lot of ghosts before he fled to this world."

Tracy looked shocked. "Oh, no," she whispered.

"But since he came to the world of the living he seems to have found a liking in human life energy, it seems. It's disgusting." He shook his head. "Do you have any idea where I could find him? Any particular place he loves? Any hidings?"

Tracy looked thoughtful. "I heard there was an accident involving the Ghostbusters. Word like that travels fast here. The Ghostbusters ...." She shuddered. Rye understood her feelings. "They were after a ghost that sounded like the creep you're looking for."

"Did they get him?"

"No, he escaped. But I think he got one of them."

"Shit," Rye cursed. Now he was also working against the Ghostbusters. They would want the ghost trapped under al circumstances and he might get caught in the middle. "Thanks, Trace. I gotta go."

She hugged him close again. "Come by after you're done. We really have to catch up on .... old times."

He chuckled and disengaged himself from her. Then he left. He had to find a way to apprehend the ghost and help the Ghostbusters, without getting trapped himself, that was.

 

* * *

 

She looked around the apartment and tried to remember whether this really was hers or not. The man, Peter, said so. He and Winston Zeddemore had driven her from the hospital to the small apartment building. They  had shown her to her door and had produced a key, which fit the lock. Now she stood in the living room, thinking hard if there was anything in here she was familiar with. But there was nothing.

"Nothing," she told the two men standing behind her, waiting expectantly.

Peter looked disappointed for just one second, then called up a bright and cheery smile. "It'll come back," he promised. "Why don't you have a look around and we'll get some lunch?"

"Sounds good," she said. She was feeling slightly hungry.

"Why don't you stay with Janine and I'll get some pizzas or burgers?" Winston told his friend.

Peter shrugged. "If the lady wants company?" He raised an expectant eyebrow.

Janine had to smile. "Sure, why not. You might just tell me some stories out of my life."

"Fine with me."

"But first I want to have a shower and change out of those clothes." She looked darkly at the man standing in the living room. "Alone."

He raised his hands defensively. "Hey, the thought never even entered my mind!"

"Yeah, sure. Why is it I don't believe you?"

"Because you have amnesia?"

Janine snorted. She walked into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. There were a lot of clothes, in there, none which she recognized. She took out some which looked like they were just fine for her and then walked into the bathroom. After her shower she felt much better. Walking back into the bedroom she went over to a table in front of a mirror. Looking into the mirror she tried to recall anything that was connected to the face she saw. It was a pale face, except for the large colorful bruise on her left side. Red hair framed the pale oval and blue eyes shone out of it with fierce intensity. There was nothing; not even a vague memory. With a sigh she glanced at the table. There were some make-up articles, a hair brush and --- and a small, leather-bound. Curiously she took the book and sat down. It looked like your typical diary to her and she was sure it was just that. Janine opened the book. Yes, there was her name written on the first page.

 _To Janine, the best sister I can think of. Monika._

Who was Monika? It looked like it was her sister, but she couldn't pin the name to a face at all. Desperately raking her brain for even a glimpse of the woman or a memory of their childhood she closed her eyes. There was only a complete nothingness. With an effort she returned to the book and turned the page. The page was full of handwritten comments. They were short and there was no date anywhere so that she might be able to tell when this diary had started.

 _Monika gave me this diary as a present for my birthday. I think this is because I once told her that I stopped writing diaries when I moved to New York City. When I was a kid I wrote whole books about my daily life. Then I had time. Moving to New York rid me of that time, because I had to find a job. That's not so easy._

 _Now I have time. I found a job that pays me to do nothing much at all. After reading lots of mystery novels and hoping for the phone to ring I thought of this diary. Today I brought it along and started this page._

 _I found this  job after they kicked me out at the old office. It's the most incredible job I've ever been at but they pay me and it doesn't really matter whether it's all a big hoax or not. They call themselves the Ghostbusters and say that there's really something like ghosts out there. If I weren't so desperate for a job..... but I'll never let them know that._

Janine frowned again. The Ghostbusters? Peter and Winston had said something like that yesterday. Trapping ghosts? That was ridiculous! But then -- she had started out in that business some time ago as it seemed. And now was 1992. It looked like they were either very good at selling something that wasn't really there or .... no! Ghosts couldn't really exist, could they? That was superstition!

Confused and full of doubt she continued reading. The next pages were again full of her new job. But there were also some notes about someone called Egon Spengler. Obviously she had some interest in the man since she said so over and over again. She also found descriptions of the others.

 _Today I had a word fight with Venkman again. This guy goes on my nerves like nothing else. He's damn irritating. When I saw him for the first time I thought he had 'con man' written all over him. He talks smart, dates more women than I've ever known a man to date and always has a smart-ass reply on everything. Then again I've seen him on other occasions, when he talks to Ray or Egon. He can be so serious if he wants to that you easily forget his other side. He's also very good at handling the press, smooth-talking them away from claiming the Ghostbusters are nothing but a hoax._

 _Ray Stantz is one of the nicest men I've ever met. He's just like a kid sometimes, all enthusiastic and full of life. He's something like a good spirit around this old house. You wouldn't believe he's such a brilliant scientist if you met him for the first time. You just have to like him, there's no way around it._

 _Of all the three men Egon Spengler is the one who's the cutest. He's a scientist and so absorbed in his work that it's really hard to get his attention. I don't know if he knows what an effect he can have on women, but I doubt it. Gee, I should have met him before. But since Venkman noticed my interest in his friend he won't stop teasing me about it. That's what the fight was all about today. It ended with me throwing a book at him. I'm sorry to say I missed. How can such a jerk be a psychologist? Patients would be running out of his office._

Janine smiled at that entry. Either Peter Venkman had changed a lot in the last years since her entry -- but she doubted it -- or her perception of him had changed through the amnesia. The man who had visited her was no way close to the jerk she described in the book. Okay, so he had let some outrageous quips slip, but all in all he appeared quite likable.

Suddenly she looked up. Something .... no, someone was here. She was about to yell at Peter Venkman for daring to enter her bedroom when she became aware that it wasn't him. Janine gave a startled yelp as she discovered the intruder. He was dark-haired like Peter, just as tall and slim, but he was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket. There was a pair of glasses sitting on his nose, not very strong glasses, as she immediately judged. His hair was short cropped, but not too short, and he looked all in all handsome. But that wasn't her prime concern right now. There was a man in her bedroom!

"Who are you?" she demanded, gathering her bathrobe more tightly around her and looking for a suitable weapon. "What are you doing here in my bedroom?" She wondered if the guy had done something to Peter and was now trying to get to her.

The man blushed deeply, averting his eyes, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Ms Melnitz, I didn't know ... " He looked around, never looking directly at her. "I'm not very good at that thing." Shrugging he explained, "You see, I'm here about that ghost that did this to you."

"You are one of the Ghostbusters as well?" she asked suspiciously. Somehow that didn't sound right. She knew ... felt that Peter and Winston were of the same team, and she knew there were Egon and Ray, but this guy wasn't one of them.

"Uhm, no, I'm a private investigator."

"Janine?" That was Peter's voice. He knocked at the door. "You all right?"

Janine looked at the man, then decided since the door was unlocked and the stranger stood a few feet away from her, she had a good chance of calling for help without the guy getting to her.

"Peter!" she yelled.

The door flew open and Peter Venkman stormed in. The man looked a bit surprised at the other man's entry, but he stood where he was. Peter stared at the man in disbelief, then anger.

"Who are you? What do you want here? How did you get in?" Venkman looked at her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Janine was still clutching her bathrobe.

"I'm sorry," the man said again. "I didn't want to cause all that commotion...." Taking a look at Peter's dangerous expression, he held up his hands. "My name is Rye Coulthard. I'm a private investigator, and I'm looking for the ghost that did this to Ms. Melnitz."

Peter stared at him in surprise. "You are looking for a ghost? What he do? Scare someone?" The last was said with a very sarcastic note.

Coulthard sighed. "In a way. Listen, do we have to talk in here? I guess Ms. Melnitz wants to dress...."

"You could have thought of that before you appeared here!" she snorted. "How did you get in here anyway?"

"I told you I'm not good at those things," he apologized.

"You wanna tell us you simply popped up here?" Peter asked carefully.

"Do you have one of your devices with you?" Coulthard asked in return. "The ones you use to find ghosts?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "No. Why?"

"You won't believe me if I tell you, I know that, but ... I'm a ghost."

 

*

 

Winston stared at the man in the leather jacket with disbelief. "A ghost?" he repeated. "You're a ghost?"

Rye smiled and brushed his hand through the table. "Apparently I am. If you had your instruments you could confirm my claims."

"What did you do in Janine's bedroom?" Peter asked sharply.

Winston had returned only two minutes after Rye Coulthard had walked out of the bedroom, followed by Peter and a now dressed Janine. The two large pizzas sat abandoned on the table and Janine suspected she had to microwave them later.

"I told you I'm not good at those things, but I think I'll better start from the beginning. I'm a private investigator and my latest case is to find a certain ghost that left the Netherworld. It didn't appear here until three days ago and you tried to catch it in the Museum of Literature."

"The yellow nasty?" Winston asked.

Rye nodded. "He's on the list of the Netherworld's most wanted ghosts."

"What'd he do?" Janine asked.

"He robbed several ghosts of their personalities, their afterlife ... their existence as such. He literally killed them. The police tried to catch him, but he got away."

"Police?" Peter echoed. "You have a police force in the Netherworld? Don't make me laugh!"

"I'm not trying to, Dr. Venkman. It's the truth." Rye looked openly at him. "The part where I live is like New York. We have a police force, a mayor, hospitals and things like that. Most of the human ghosts who left this world and can't live somewhere else went to this area. It's quite nice."

"Uh, Ray would love that," Winston muttered.

"Why did you come here?" Peter asked.

"Because my contacts told me of your encounter with the ghost. They also mentioned that one of you was hurt," he looked at Janine, "suffering from amnesia. It's the ghost's doing; he took part of your energy and this suction created something like a block around your memories, Ms. Melnitz. It will go with time, but until then it's pretty scary, right?"

She nodded.

"He steals people's memories?" Winston asked.

"No, he steals energy. He slimes the human in question and through the slime pulls energy from it until the slime is either too inactive, which happens after some time, or is removed. When a victim falls unconscious it only helps the ghost because then there's no one there to resist him." Rye sighed deeply. "The energy loss combined with the unconsciousness leads to amnesia because the brain blocks everything. Don't ask me how or why, I'm not a medic."

"So I'll get my memory back in the end?" Janine wanted to know.

Rye nodded.

"You still haven't told us exactly why you came here," Peter pointed out. He hadn't lost his suspicion and it was still growing since the man had revealed himself to be a ghost.

"I have come to help you. You are undermanned to catch the ghost and I don't want him to end up in the containment unit. Moe would be pissed if I didn't bring him back."

"Moe?" Janine questioned.

"Chief of police."

"Oh."

"So you want to help us get the guy and then you'll take him with you to the Netherworld again?" Peter shook his head. "What if he escapes again?"

"He won't."

"Why can't I trust you?" Peter asked rhetorically. "Maybe we should simply bust you and then get the other guy."

Rye's face hardened.

Winston laid a placating hand on Peter's arm. "We can't do that, Peter. He offers us help we need. Until Ray and Egon are back we're definitely undermanned," he told his friend.

"I don't trust him, Winston!" Peter hissed.

"And I don't trust you," Coulthard said calmly.

Peter's had snapped around and regarded the ghost through narrowed eyes.

"You catch my kind for a living, just like I do, with the one difference that you can catch and trap me any time, and I can't do anything to you." He spread his hands. "I don't have any powers out of the ordinary. I'm not even good at homing in on the living around me, as you saw, so .... you have the advantage."

Peter looked still unconvinced. Janine decided to take the initiative. She rose from her place, walked over to the pizzas and put them into the microwave. "Let's get something to eat first," she said. "Then you guys should make plans how to trap that ghost."

Peter stared at her. "You want us to work with him?" He pointed at Rye.

"Thank you very much," Rye muttered sarcastically.

"Yes, I do," Janine stated firmly. "I want that thing caught! It's responsible that I can't remember anything, not even you!"

"Looks like that isn't a great loss," Rye said wryly. It earned him a sharp look from Peter and he smiled. "Hey, I don't know you guys either."

"How do we find that ghost?" Winston wanted to know, going all business.

"Well, I guess you have your machines, I have my ways," Rye explained. He raised an expectant eyebrow.

Winston nodded. "We still have the readings from the museum. Boy, I wish Egon and Ray were here."

"What ways?" Peter wanted to know.

Coulthard smiled. "Spooky ones."

 

* * *

 

Rye wasn't sure he had done the right thing. On one side he was used to working with the authorities and the people involved in a case. He needed the expertise of those who knew about what was going on and he was always trying to get the support of those who were likely to end up at his side in the end. The Ghostbusters were the only one in their field and he would have met them sooner or later. Now he thought he would have liked that meeting to be later. But on the other side -- the Ghostbusters would come more than in handy to catch the escapee because they had the machines to do so. But they also had the machines to trap him, which was the greater of Rye's worries.

The final decision to try and contact those involved had come after he had heard the whole story from another ghost, who had been close by when it had happened. It had been an old museum ghost, one who had lived in museums since he had died and he had never harmed anyone. The appearance of the yellow ghost and the violence following it had disturbed him greatly, and he had been more than happy to assist Rye. Homing in on Janine Melnitz had been quite easy. Like all the Ghostbusters she was frequently close to Ecto-energy and since she had been in direct contact with the escapee he only had to employ an Ecto-hound.

Ecto-hounds were low class ghosts with a dog-like personality. They mostly hung out throughout the Netherworld and that was where Rye found one. Her name was Sierra, a name Meg had given her. She wasn't a beauty, mostly a glob of ectoplasm with large, black eyes and a worm-like body. But Rye didn't mind looks; he had learned to ignore the bodily look of a ghost. It was the personality that counted.

With Sierra he had returned to the world of the living and had brought her to the Museum of Literature, where she had found her first whiff of the yellow ghost. Rye had told her to find the Ghostbuster attacked in the museum and she had. Unfortunately he had never stopped to find out if the Ghostbuster was male or female which would have been less embarrassing in the end. He had never even asked if it was one of the Ghostbusters' temporary assistants. After making a fool of himself in front of a bathrobe clad woman he had accomplished part of what he had come here to do: he had the Ghostbusters on his side -- for now. He wasn't so sure about that Venkman character. The man distrusted him and Rye distrusted Venkman as well.

Employing Sierra again he had found the ghost's hiding place. He had let the Ecto-hound run free after that, thanking her with the promise to play with her when he was back. Then he had returned to Ghostbuster Central, meeting with the Ghostbusters. Hopefully on still peaceful ground .....

 

* * *

 

"I don't like it," Peter muttered, looking uneasily at the old warehouse.

"Welcome to the club," Rye said dryly. The private investigator chewed his lower lip, studying the abandoned building. The paint was flaking off the wooden walls, the windows were either cracked or grimy or they were altogether nonexistent.

"That's where that thing is?" Janine asked. She had insisted on accompanying them and neither Winston nor Peter had found any argument to make the red-haired secretary stay at home.

"That's where he hides out during his sleeping periods," Rye confirmed. "Looks like he periodically needs time to rest and digest the energy he stole.

They walked over to the large entrance door, which was slightly ajar. It was now close to five in the evening and everything was calm and quiet. No-one except them was around.

"Can you trust that contact of yours?" Peter wanted to know.

Rye raised an eyebrow. "I guess the question you want to have answered is: can you trust what I told you, right?"

Peter looked at him, distrust mirroring in his eyes. "Can I?"

"Dr. Venkman, we've been over this before," the ghost said patiently. "I want that ghost trapped as much as you do, no doubts about that. If you don't trust me then wait out here and I'll try and flush him out."

"No way," Winston said immediately. He was holding a P.K.E. meter and it confirmed that the ghost they were looking for was inside that warehouse. "If I heard you correct that ghost is also dangerous to other ghosts."

Rye nodded. "It is. It can kill me."

Janine looked surprised. "But you are already dead."

The ghost smiled. "Yes, but that doesn't mean that my ghostly existence can't be terminated. The ghost takes energy and since I'm made of energy I can be killed."

"Oh."

The quartet entered the warehouse and waited for a few seconds until their eyes had adjusted to the twilight inside.

"What a mess," Janine muttered as she took a look around.

Crates littered the floor and shelves stood in disorder. Some were already broken, but others also still contained goods, mainly rusted metal and various tools, which no longer were of any use to anyone. Ropes and nets were piled up here and there, and below the ceiling hung iron chains and more nets.

Winston took readings with the P.K.E. meter. He wasn't as good as Egon or Ray with the device but he knew enough on how to make it work and how to read what stood on the small display screen.

"I can't pinpoint its exact location. Peter, you got a second meter?"

Peter nodded and took out the second P.K.E. meter he had carried along. He activated it and frowned at the display. "We should split up and home in on the strongest reading," he said. "This way we can corner the critter and trap him."

"Good idea," Winston agreed. "Just be careful it won't hit you."

Janine smiled wryly. "There's nothing left to take from me," she said.

Peter regarded her seriously. "Except for your life."

She looked back at him, noting his expression and simply nodded.

They split up, Peter somehow ending up with Rye. Maybe it was natural instinct to keep an eye on their ghostly helper. He still didn't trust the guy. It wasn't so much the fact that Rye Coulthard was a ghost. There had been many ghosts throughout their jobs who had helped them or who had turned out to be peaceful and simply wanted to have a part in the lives of the living. Peter wasn't someone who busted a ghost first and asked questions later; he preferred to see a human ghost dissolve peacefully to trapping it forever in the containment unit, though it meant no money, or not as much as a successful catch.

But Rye was different. He didn't look like a ghost and he sure as hell didn't act like one. What Rye had told them about his job, being a private eye in the Netherworld, didn't fit Peter's picture of what ghosts did when they went into another dimension. Maybe he was that other ghost's partner and tried to lure them to his lair for him to take out the Ghostbusters. But maybe ... maybe he had told them the truth and he was really after that yellow gooper. Peter just had to be careful and keep a very close eye on the guy.

Rye had disappeared after their initial talk, telling them he'd meet them at Ghostbuster Central in an hour. He wanted to have a word with his contacts and see if he found out where the wanted ghost was. Peter, Janine and Winston had driven back to the headquarters, preparing for the bust. Winston had instructed Janine in the use of a proton pack and she had understood very quickly how the things worked. Peter had thought that was a good sign. He had watched her throughout the instruction and he believed that she was getting glimpses of her memory now and then, which enabled her to understand something she knew in and out just a few days ago more quickly.

Winston had also taken two P.K.E. meters and Peter had configured them to the ghost's readings. When Rye had returned, the psychologist had secretly taken a few readings of the ghost for later evaluation. He was pretty sure that both Ray and Egon wanted to have a look at them if they missed him. The P.K.E. meter confirmed that Rye was a Class-4, though pretty strong and pretty substantial.

Proton rifle in one hand and the P.K.E. meter in the other, Peter walked carefully through the warehouse, acutely aware of the ghost at his side. Rye didn't make a noise, simply walked alongside him, watching. The P.K.E. meter showed them that the strongest reading was coming from left of them and Peter homed in on it.

"He's close," Rye muttered uneasily and glanced around.

"How do you know?" Peter asked, though his meter told him the same. The readings were strong.

"Feeling." The private investigator shrugged.

Suddenly there was a loud raging yell and the yellow ghost flew up between two shelves. Peter flinched violently, as he had not expected it to pop up like that. His shot went wide and he had to let go of the P.K.E. meter to steady the proton stream, which was set on full power. The ghost screamed and evaded the stream of ionized protons, zeroing in on the hapless Ghostbuster, who stood directly in his path.

"Hey!" Rye called on top of his ghostly lungs.

The ghost stopped, snarled and his beady little eyes lit up. It growled with something akin to hunger and charged. Rye jumped aside and pulled out a gun. Peter's eyes widened as he watched the private eye aim at the ghost and then shoot. The paranormal bullets grazed the yellow ectoplasm and left smoldering cuts. The ghost screamed in pain and lashed out at its attacker. Rye was hit by the sharp claws and thrown back into a heap of nets and chains. Peter's lips were set into a tight, white line as he fired, hoping Winston and Janine would get a move on and help him.

The proton stream hit the ghost again and it yelled. It fought against the single stream which was too weak to contain it and came threateningly closer to Peter. The psychologist backed away until her felt a solid wall against his proton pack. The ghost picked up shreds of metal, glass and other garbage lying on the floor and began to throw them at Peter. Unable to evade the attack the dark-haired Ghostbuster felt a sharp glass shrapnel bite into his left cheek. The wound stung and he moved to one side, still firing, but not doing any good with it. He remembered that that thing could take his life energy and leave him with a wiped mind if it chose to and that fueled his determination not to let the yellow gooper touch him. More garbage rained down on him and one particular heavy piece of sharp metal opened his shoulder, tearing the jumpsuit. Peter gave a yelp of pain and his thrower wavered. The entity freed itself out of the stream and lunged at its attacker.

"No!" Rye protested and pushed Peter aside.

Peter cried in pain as he landed on his injured shoulder. Rye fired at the ghost again until there was only the hollow clicking noise of an empty ammo chamber.

"Shit," Coulthard muttered and searched for more ammo.

The yellow ghost looked at him for one second, then gave a howl of triumph. His body was stained with smoldering burns from the bullets and it appeared as if those 'wounds' had slowed it down, though not enough. Rye was again thrown through the air, this time crashing heavily against the wall and sliding down. Though he was in effect a ghost he was also partly solid and he could feel pain. Dizzy and slightly disoriented, he tried to get to his feet. As he looked up he saw the ghost coming directly at him, hunger and greed reflected in its eyes.

Suddenly another proton stream hit it in the back, followed by second stream, and it was halted. Peter lifted his own weapon again and fired, too, ignoring the pain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Winston and Janine. They trapped it between the three streams. It was very strong, but not strong enough to withstand three throwers set on full.

"We need a trap!" the psychologist bellowed over the whine of the streams.

Janine struggled to unhook the trap from her pack.

"Under the ghost," Winston directed her and she threw the trap away. It landed directly under the writhing ghost.

Winston hit the trigger pedal and the trap opened.

"Trap open!" he yelled as the brilliant white light of the trap enveloped the ghost and pulled it inside. With a final yell the yellow ghost disappeared into the trap.

An eerie silence fell over the warehouse room and Peter realized how shaky he was. His knees wanted to buckle and he had to force every bit of strength into his legs. He looked over to where Rye was leaning against the same wall, not very far from him.

"You look like I feel," Peter quipped shakily.

Rye grinned weakly. "Thank you kindly."

Winston and Janine came over to him. "Peter, are you all right?" Winston asked while Janine looked critically at his wounds.

"I feel kinda dizzy," the psychologist confessed.

"You need a hospital," Janine decided immediately. "You're bleeding."

Peter glanced at his shoulder, which was a blood-soaked mess. "I guess you're right," he muttered and then his knees gave way.

Winston caught and steadied him. "Call an ambulance, Janine," he told the secretary.

"Will do."

She disappeared to use Ecto's mobile phone.

"What about Rye?" Peter wanted to know, weakly turning his head.

The ghost walked slowly over to him. "I'll be fine, Dr. Venkman. I just need a bit of rest, like you do. Lucky for me ghosts don't break bones or bleed."

"But they bruise," Winston noted.

Peter smiled crookedly, which pulled painfully on his cut cheek. Rye touched the already darkening spot on  his forehead.

"Uh-huh," he muttered. "Great."

 

* * *

 

Janine sat in the waiting room, waiting for Peter to get the okay of the doctor to go home. Winston was outside, getting them some coffee, which both of them needed. Rye Coulthard had accompanied them, now sitting on one of the other chairs, silently keeping her company. She rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache crawl up inside. She was tired and wanted to take a shower, desperately.

 _Slime's the worst thing I can think of. It sticks to you and you find it days later in the most impossible regions of your body._

Surprised she noticed that this was a memory. It was accompanied by the picture of four slime-encrusted men, clad in Ghostbuster jumpsuits, one of them, Peter, complaining loudly about the sticky stuff. More pictures appeared, showing her the Ghostbusters at work or cleaning Ecto-1 or dumping stained suits on the floor or chasing off Slimer or .....

"It's coming back!" she breathed happily.

"Huh?" Rye looked at her in confusion.

"I'm starting to remember!"

The ghost smiled at her. "I told you that when your energies are replenished the mind block will dissipate."

Winston entered the waiting room, carrying two Styrofoam cups of coffee.

"I remember, Winston!" Janine called and jumped from her chair. "It's starting to come back!"

The Ghostbuster grinned broadly. "Hey, that's the best thing I've heard since we've started this bust." He set down the cups and hugged the enthusiastic secretary. "How much do you remember?"

"It's a bit disorderly, but there are busts, and ghosts, and slime, and ....." The words bubbled out of her. Janine felt like dancing. The horrible emptiness inside of her was starting to fill with her life again.

Rye Coulthard watched them with an expression of relief. As the door opened again to admit a dark-skinned man in a lab coat he disappeared. The doctor looked at the two only people in the waiting room.

"You are Janine Melnitz and Winston Zeddemore?" he asked and both nodded. "My name is Dr. Andretti."

"How's Peter?" Winston wanted to know.

"Dr. Venkman's injuries are not serious. The scratches will heal without scarring and he didn't loose much blood. We would like to keep him in the hospital over night, but he insisted on signing himself out." Andretti didn't look too pleased.

Janine had to grin a bit. "Pete hates hospitals," she told him, pleased with what her memory supplied her with.

"Just keep and eye on him. He seems to tend to the illusion that he's perfectly all right," Andretti grumbled. "He's been going on my nerves ever since he came here. I was lucky to be able to take care of the worst cuts."

Winston chuckled. "Don't worry, Doc. We'll take of him."

Andretti nodded. "Okay, you can take your colleague and get them out of my hair."

Winston smiled. "Sure, Doc."

 

* * *

 

Ray Stantz and Egon Spengler returned home together. Both their planes had come within one hour and Ray, who had arrived first, had decided to wait for Egon. They had taken a taxi after calling Ghostbuster Central and finding only the answering machine there to help them out.

"They have to be on a bust," Ray had said.

Egon had only scowled. Two Ghostbuster were at least one short for a bust, but he had said nothing. They had arrived some hours later, finding Ghostbuster Central empty and quiet. As Egon walked over to Janine's desk to look if there was a message, Ray paid the cabby and then closed the door.

"No note," the blond physicist reported.

"You think something might have happened?" Ray asked, worry shining in his eyes.

Egon was about to answer when the door to the firehouse opened again. Both Ghostbuster stared openmouthed at the trio entering. Peter's head was bandaged and his jumpsuit torn; Janine's left side of her face was bruised and she had a cut on her forehead; Winston was relatively unharmed and only looked extremely dirty. As they walked in Janine discovered Egon and a smile split her face.

"Egon!"

"Janine!" Egon called, blue eyes wide with shock at her bruised appearance.

"Gosh, guys! What happened?" Ray wanted to know, his voice anxious and worried.

"We had a little dance with a ghost," Peter said with a grin. "Nothing serious."

Egon scowled at him, then glanced over to Janine. "Nothing serious?" he echoed. "I wouldn't call the state you are obviously in 'nothing serious'."

"Let's move this party upstairs," Winston interrupted whatever Peter wanted to say on this and everyone agreed.

Someone coughed slightly. Ray and Egon were once again startled by what they saw, but Janine, Winston and Peter only discovered an old friend.

"Excuse me," Rye Coulthard said pleasantly. "Haven't you forgotten something?" He raised an eyebrow.

Peter grinned. "You fugitive." He held up the trap he had been carrying along. "Nicely packed and ready for transport."

Rye smiled back. "Thank you very much, Dr. Venkman."

"Peter to people who save my life."

"Peter, who is this man?" Egon wanted to know. "And what is that about saving your life?"

"Later," Peter only said.

"Wow!" Ray breathed, "You're a ghost!"

Rye looked slightly confused. "How did you know?"

"He's quite a bright kid," Peter quipped, grinning at Ray.

"Peter, what happened here?" Egon wanted to know, this time looking like he wouldn't take a 'later' for an answer. In his hands was a P.K.E. meter and Peter wondered where he had magicked this one from. But then, Egon lived by the wise words 'Never leave home without it'. "This man is a very strong Class-4 and he appears corporeal, but his valences aren't negative."

"What's he talking about?" Rye asked in confusion.

"He said you're a ghost," Peter translated.

"I am?" the private investigator asked with mock surprise, touching his body. "Gee."

Peter grinned. "Ray, Egon, may I introduce Rye Coulthard, private investigator from the Netherworld?"

"Hi," Rye said pleasantly. "I'd really love to stay and have a chat, but Moe's eagerly waiting for this guy," he lifted the trap, "and I don't want to keep him waiting." With a last wave he dissolved.

Egon turned to his dark-haired friend. "I think we have to talk about this -- in detail."

 

* * *

 

"It's good to be home," Rye said softly and looked over the city he knew inside out. It was so very much different from New York or any other city of the living, but to him it was home. He felt right here. From Moe's office he had a panorama vision over the downtown area.

"Well done, Rye," Moe congratulated him and lifted the trap. "We don't need this anymore."

Rye took the trap and weighed it in his hands. It wasn't heavy, but nevertheless it was a weight he didn't like. This trap was a danger to every paranormal being here.

"I'll dispose of that."

"Good idea," Moe said with a nod. "And I'll be at the justice building. The judge is ready to sentence that creep and I hope he'll get thrown into a demon's lair." With that he disappeared.

Rye looked at the trap again. "Well," he told no one specific. "Here we go." And he disappeared as well."

 

* * *

 

lt was late in the evening at Ghostbuster Central. Janine was at home, getting some sleep. Peter had told her to take the next few days off, mainly, as he had added with an evil grin, because she might scare off the customers with a face bruised like hers.

"Watch it or I'll bruise your face beyond recognition," the red-haired secretary had told him, then had taken her bag and had left.

After that Winston and Peter had explained everything there was about the bust. Egon had only scowled deeply as Peter had told them how he had accepted the bust and how he had miscalculated some things.

"I hope you learned from this," the blond physicist had said sternly.

"Sure did," Peter had muttered, ducking his head a bit. "It was my mistake and I'm glad everything went as well as it did."

Now, after the immediate explanation was over and both Ray and Egon were busy with the readings the other two Ghostbusters had taken of Rye and the yellow ghost, the old firehouse was silent. Winston had cleaned out Ecto-1 and was just closing the doors, deciding that he'd give the old car a thorough wash tomorrow when he noticed the shape beside Janine's desk.

"What ...?!" he started, tensing a bit, then relaxed. "Mr. Coulthard!"

Rye smiled apologetically. "Sorry to scare you, Mr. Zeddemore," he said. "I told you I'm not very good at this." He held up a trap, the one they had used to catch the yellow ghost. "I thought you might want that back."

Winston took the trap and nodded his thanks. "Thanks for bringing it back."

"No sweat. We don't really need things like those over there." The private investigator shrugged. "And thanks again for your help."

"Likewise."

"Always." With that Rye Coulthard disappeared.

Winston shook his head, then placed the trap on the table to stow it away tomorrow. Right now he only wanted to put his feet up, relax and watch some TV. He had really earned that today.


End file.
